


Winter Memories

by Nicxan



Category: The Stanley Parable
Genre: M/M, Not Beta Read, The relationship is subtle but I wrote them as if they're together, Their first winter together ; v;
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 13:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20258770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicxan/pseuds/Nicxan
Summary: Stanley eagerly awaits the first snowfall since they escaped the Parable.Mostly because he really, really wanted to build a snowman with the Narrator.





	Winter Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Halfway through Writer's Month, holy crap. Day 15, prompt is 'first time!'  
Not gonna lie, this one got away with me, and you can kinda tell where I went "I'M ON A TIME CRUNCH I NEED TO WRAP THIS UP" and rushed. I am very sorry. But hopefully I can explore this better when I'm not on said time crunch.

Stanley loved the winter – he loved having an excuse to bundle up in cute sweaters, the hot chocolate, the festive décor, and the snow. Especially the idea of snow.   
  
It was strange to say, especially since he barely remembered hating the snow before the Parable, but he loved it now. He was never going to take it for granted again, he swore to himself. The moment it snowed, he would go out and enjoy every single second of it.   
  
He waited eagerly through the month of December – no snow. Initially, he felt disappointment, but while the White Christmas dream didn’t come to pass, maybe it would snow in January. Right?   
  
It didn’t in January, either. The temperatures were perfect – nice and cold – but the sky was always cloudless, with the sun taunting them in that ‘ideal’ weather.  
  
Stanley had started to give up hope on seeing snow this year. While it was a bummer, he could at least comfort himself with the thought that the weather would cycle, and that there would be a chance next year. It being unpredictable was part of the fun, and part of why he treasured it so much. So, Stanley let it go, and started to carry on like normal. He stopped looking out the window, and stopped hoping for something that would seemingly never come.  
  
Then, on February 2nd, it started to snow.   
  
Stanley didn’t notice that right away. He was too busy preparing breakfast for himself and the Narrator. The eggs were almost done, and the bacon was sizzling, and …   
  
“Stanley! Come here!” The Narrator sounded panicked, and Stanley dropped everything he was doing, turned off the stove, and rushed towards the window. “What is this!? I’ve never seen it before, I don’t remember this --”   
  
‘_Calm down, it’s all right._’ Stanley squeezed the Narrator’s shoulder gently, carefully avoided said Narrator’s pile of knitting supplies, and then peered out to see what the chaos was about. He perked up at the sight of freshly fallen snow. The road was absolutely buried under it, and so was his car. No way he would be getting into work today. He would have to send an e-mail to his boss to let him know.  
  
But Stanley would do that in a moment. For now, he was too busy excitedly signing to the Narrator.   
  
‘_Snow! It snowed! I’ve been waiting to show you this! Narrator, we have to go out!_’   
  
“Wh – Stanley, slow down, I can’t understand what you’re saying.”   
  
‘_Snow! You know it’s been cold lately, right?_’  
  
“Well … yes, it has.”   
  
‘_So, it’s frozen water, sort of. But it’s really fun to play with it! Let me e-mail work really fast, and then we can go outside!_’  
  
“_Play_? In _this _kind of weather? Stanley, have you gone mad?” Stanley didn’t even bother responding; he instead pulled out his phone, shot off a quick e-mail, and grabbed the Narrator’s hand to drag them both to their room.

* * *

It had taken an incredible amount of time to get the Narrator properly layered up. He had insisted that he was _fine_, that he didn’t need leggings and pants, and how _dare_ Stanley try to put him in one of those _godawful_ sweaters, but Stanley didn’t let up. Eventually, he was able to lead them outside. 

Of course, he wouldn’t make the Narrator do the shoveling – not this time. Even Stanley was struggling to get the driveway and his pitiful yard to a manageable level of snow. Being stuck in an office purgatory didn’t do wonders for his muscles.   
  
Eventually, it did get clear, and Stanley pulled over a reluctant, shivering Narrator out onto the yard.   
  
‘_We can build a snowman!_’  
  
“… We … Stanley, don’t kids normally do that?” the Narrator asked through chattering teeth. He snuggled into the scarf around his neck, muffling his voice. “We’re grown adults, we don’t need to build a _snowman_. It would be ridiculous.”   
  
‘_You’ve never even built one before. You can’t say that without even trying it._’   
  
“Look, I just think –”   
  
‘_Come on, Narrator. Please? Just once? I don’t care if the first time is the last time, but it could be a lot of fun!_’  
  
The Narrator huffed, and pouted, and did what he normally did, but he eventually nodded in agreement. “Once,” he said firmly. “Only because you asked.” Stanley lit up with delight, and he found it difficult to stay still. He did manage it, however, just so he could tell the Narrator how, exactly, to build a good snowman.   
  
‘_Okay, so we’ll need to –’ _Stanley paused mid-sign as he watched the Narrator crouch down, make a small snowball, and roll it across the yard. He blinked, shrugged, and began to follow suit by rolling up the snow for the middle segment. Narrator clearly knew what he was doing on this front; he didn’t need Stanley’s instructions.   
  
But he couldn’t help but wonder how. After all, he didn’t know what snow was. Right? Maybe it was just obvious what to do, yet … that didn’t make much sense either. Stanley pondered this silently, wrapped up in his thoughts and his snowman-building task.  
  
“Stanley! Should I make this – enf – any bigger, or is this good enough for you?” Stanley paused from his rolling to look over, and his eyes bugged out. The Narrator had went a lot faster than he expected, as the massive snowball went up to the Narrator’s thighs. Stanley gave a thumbs-up, still wide-eyed in shock, and then went back to building the middle.   
  
He paused eventually. His curiosity was gnawing away at him, and he couldn’t resist asking. Asking wouldn’t hurt. Right? Stanley rolled over the middle segment towards the bottom, and managed to heft it on top. It looked a bit unbalanced, but with the Narrator and him working to straighten it up and pat it down, it looked near perfect.   
  
“There. That’s the difficult work done,” the Narrator muttered. “Should I make the head while you go inside to get some things? It’s typical to decorate these things, here, isn’t it?” Stanley nodded, and reached out to tap the Narrator on the shoulder before he could really get going.  
  
‘_Are you sure you haven’t seen snow before? You seem to know your way around it well enough ..._’   
  
The Narrator paused, stunned at Stanley’s question.   
  
“N-No, I haven’t. I’ve just –” He swallowed, stammered, stuffed his gloved hands in his pockets. The Narrator seemed to shrink before Stanley’s very eyes. “I don’t know,” he weakly added. “I just knew what to do.”   
  
‘_Do you think it might have anything to do with home? Your home?_’   
  
“Perhaps. Look, Stanley, let’s – let’s just finish building the snowman, hm? I say he could use a scarf. And we could find some pebbles for eyes.” The Narrator’s tone was desperate – pleading. A silent request to drop the topic. Clearly frantic, considering he forgot that the snowman didn’t have a head yet.  
  
So Stanley did. He offered a smile instead, gently taking his hand and squeezing it.   
  
‘_Sure. Why don’t you look for a great scarf, and I’ll get the head ready?_’   
  
It was at that moment the Narrator realized his error. If his sheepish tone didn’t give it away, the awkward glance at the headless snowman did. “Absolutely perfect, Stanley. I’ll be back soon.” He darted inside, his cheeks flushed. He’d claim it was from the cold. Stanley knew better.   
  
He managed to get the head done quickly, though without the Narrator’s help, it looked a bit lopsided on the body. Digging through the snow for pebbles was a chore in of itself, but it was worth it to find the perfect ones.   
  
Stanley waited around for a few more minutes after that, glancing over at the front door now and again. The Narrator still hadn’t come out, and while Stanley knew he was picky with these things, it shouldn’t have taken him this long. They didn’t own that many scarves.   
  
Once a few more minutes had passed, he began to get worried. Either Stanley’s line of questioning really upset him, or he got wrapped up in something else. Stanley prayed it was the latter, but he couldn’t just wait anymore. He rushed up to the front door, began to open it –   
  
And there the Narrator stood, holding an older, ratty red scarf. It had some dust on it, and the color seemed somewhat faded. Stanley blinked, then looked up at the Narrator in confusion.  
  
“I … figured – well, this being our first snowman. It may as well be the proud owner of the first, uh, scarf I made when I got out of the Parable. Don’t you think so?” Stanley offered a smile as he stepped aside to let the Narrator by.   
  
He watched his Narrator drape the scarf ever-so-carefully over the snowman, shifting it and trying different wraps to make it as perfect as he could. Stanley swore he heard the other man humming, but didn’t bring any attention to it.   
  
This had been the most comfortable the Narrator had been since they had gotten out of the Parable. He didn’t want to ruin it in any way. Stanley went back to the yard, picked up the pebbles, and placed the snowman’s eyes in its head.   
  
They both took a step back to admire their handiwork.   
  
“Well, I say it looks just fine. Much better than what a kid could do --” Stanley nudged the Narrator sharply. “It’s true!”   
  
‘_We don’t need to insult other snowmen to make ours look good,_’ Stanley retorted. He raised an eyebrow, and the Narrator grumbled under his breath. As per usual. ‘Our next one is going to look even better.’   
  
“Next – Stanley, I said we would do this once.” It was a half-hearted protest.   
  
‘_You looked like you were having fun to me._’   
  
The Narrator didn’t have a verbal response for him. Instead, he simply crouched down and began the process all over again.   
  
Stanley joined him, grinning ear to ear.


End file.
